Her Best Friend's Baby, page 8
“Sure.” Grady paced the distance from the microwave to the sink. “Place looks good. All ready for Christmas, then?”
“You bet.” Mallory plugged in the kettle. “What’s wrong, Grady? You seem ready to spit nails.”
“Ah. It’s my boys.” He picked a mug out of the cupboard, then grabbed a tea bag from a canister near the sink.
Drew couldn’t help but think how at home Grady appeared here. Well, why not? He had been friends with Mallory as long as Drew had. And he hadn't spent the past ten years living in a different city.
“What have Warren and Taylor been up to now?”
“It’s pretty serious this time.” Grady’s light-blue eyes traveled from one friend to the next “They took my Jeep last night.”
“But they’re only fifteen. They can’t have their driver’s licenses yet,” Drew pointed out.
“You’ve got that right.”
Mallory poured boiling water into Grady’s mug, her gaze flickering anxiously from Drew to Grady.
“Bess and I drove over to Bracebridge in her car to visit friends yesterday evening. We came home earlier than expected because—because Bess wasn’t feeling that great. When we pulled into the garage, the Jeep was missing. And the boys were nowhere to be found.”
“What did you do?”
Grady sat, bowing his head. “Didn’t know what to do. They weren’t answering their cell phones. Phone the police on my own boys? Maybe I should have. Bess wanted me to. But the kids showed up fifteen minutes later.”
“Any damage?”
“Nope. Thank goodness. Anyway, the boys are grounded until Christmas, though I don’t know that it'll do any good. Neither one has spoken a word to me or their mother.”
“I don’t get it. I realize I haven’t spent much time with them lately, but Warren and Taylor are good kids. Wasn’t it two summers ago that we took them backpacking for a weekend? They were such troupers, not a word of complaint.”
“Yeah, Drew. They were thirteen then. The past couple of years have made a big difference. Plus a new kid moved into town last year, and he’d been a bad influence. He’s a year older than the twins, and I’ve heard he smokes and drinks. The boys claim they're not doing any of that. I can only hope they’re telling the truth.”
“Jeez, Grady. Is there anything we can do?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Grady eyed at him frankly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d try talking to them. Maybe, since you’re not their old man, they’d listen to you. They’ve always looked up to you.”
Drew crossed his arms. “Are you sure you’re asking the right person? You and I did some pretty wild things when we were that age, as I recall.”
“Maybe. But we never stole anything.”
He had a point there. “Well, I can give it a shot. But I don’t have much experience with kids.” He glanced at Mallory, and could tell she was thinking the same thing he was. Yet Once Grady had finished his tea and left, Mallory started to pull on her coat, brown suede with a thick pile lining. “Will you drop me home before you go talk to Warren and Taylor?”
“Of course. But wait one minute.”
He’d put a hand on her arm, and she peered at it for a moment before turning her gaze to his. “What’s up?”
“I got word this morning that another cottage was broken into last night Not five miles from the last one. What do you think?”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “Do you think the boys might have had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
Still, it was quite a coincidence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grady and Bess Hogan’s house was nestled against the Indian River, which connected Port Carling with the three great Muskoka lakes: Rosseau, Muskoka and Joseph. A sprawling bungalow, with pale-gray cedar siding, it had a double garage out front and a boathouse at the back, connected to the house by a long, freshly painted dock.
Drew found the twins in the boathouse. They were cleaning the small motorboat the family used for touring. The larger craft, with enough horsepower for waterskiing, had already been pulled out of the water and was hidden from view by a large canvas cover.
“Hey, guys,” Drew said as he ducked through the small door. The boathouse provided shelter from the wind and from the snow, which had only just begun to fall. But it was still cool inside. Drew zipped up his leather jacket and pushed his hands into the warmth of the lined pockets.
The boys were wearing jeans and sweatshirts, their coats tossed on the ground beside them. Taylor was wiping the interior of the boat with a rag, while Warren worked with sandpaper on a couple of deep scratches.
Although the twins were identical, Drew had no trouble distinguishing them. Mostly it was personality. You could tell that Warren was the live wire, whereas Taylor had a quieter disposition, reflected in the calmness of his expression.
He crouched down to their level and picked up a rag. “I heard you weren’t speaking to your folks. Not talking to me, either?”
Taylor had the grace to look at him sheepishly. But a glance from Warren had Taylor’s eyes focused back on the boat.
“I guess you figure I’m here to give you hell, and you’re not interested.”
“We don’t care why you’re here,” Warren said, still sanding with long even strokes.
“You don’t, do you? Well, that kind of hurts my feelings, because I thought we were friends. Remember who it was who stood in the water for an hour helping you two get up your first time on skis? It was only June and the water was freezing cold as I recall.”
“It wasn’t an hour,” Taylor protested. “We both got up on practically our first try.”
“I believe your mother’s got some serious video footage that will prove you wrong.”
Taylor ducked his head, hiding a smile. That was a good sign.
“So what sports are you guys into these days? Still playing hockey?”
“Nah. We dropped out of that last year. We’ve got better things to do with our time.” This came from Warren, who’d always been the more competitive athlete.
Drew didn’t think the boy was talking about studying. “Like what?”
“Hanging out with our friends.”
“You mean the guys you were with when you stole your dad’s Jeep last night?”
Warren’s gaze flashed to his brother. “See. I told you he was here to give us the big lecture.”
Drew surmised they must have seen him drive up to the house, then made sure they were busy when he walked in the door.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Warren. I have no big lecture. Just questions. Your dad came to see me this morning to tell me what happened last night He’s real worried about the two of you, and so am I.
“It just doesn’t make sense. You’re bright kids. You know the trouble you could get into driving without a license. I can’t believe you’d be that dumb. I figure someone else was driving. One of those friends you were talking about.”
The boys exchanged another look, and he concluded he was right. Was it this new kid Grady seemed so worried about?
“Of course, this hypothetical friend of yours couldn't have done it unless you guys gave him the keys. Which is bad enough. I’m just hoping that a bit of back-road driving is all that went on. That there was no drinking or...” He paused for a moment, assessing their faces. “Breaking into any of the cottages closed up for the winter.”
“Why would you say that?” Warren asked quickly. “Are you accusing us of something?”
“Nope. I’m just trying to warn you. I was listening to the scanner this morning. Seems another cottage was vandalized last night. The same night you and your brother were out driving in your father’s Jeep without permission. And maybe without a legal driver, either. People can and will put two and two together.”
He stood, brushing dirt off his jeans. “Now, I’m not saying there’s any connection. But if there is, the consequences will be a lot scarier than being grounded for a month. And your mom and dad won’t be able to help you.”
“As if they’d want to,” Warren said, tossing the sandpaper to the side. “Mom’s ready to have us locked in jail already. We wouldn’t be such a nuisance to her that way.”
Whoa. Where had that come from? “Is there some problem with your mom these days?”
Maybe you should ask her that. We don’t see her enough to know. Neither does Dad. Maybe you should ask him, too. Maybe you should do a complete bloody report on the entire family. That might turn up a few interesting facts for the Gazette.”
The teen’s anger stung Drew into a silence that was long enough for Warren to storm out of the boathouse, followed rapidly by Taylor.
Drew felt helpless watching them go. He thought he’d driven up here to deal with a little teenage rebellion. But this anger toward Bess—where had it come from? Did Grady have any idea of the hornet’s nest he’d asked his friend to stir up?
Drew was shoveling her walk when Mallory opened her front door Monday morning. The unpleasant sound of metal scraping concrete echoed in the still air. A heavy snow had fallen all night, wet and sticky, perfect for snowballs.
She bent down, feeling a little guilty. The guy was clearing her driveway, for heaven’s sake. Yet the temptation was too strong.
Splat! She got him on the side of the neck. She’d always had pretty good aim. He straightened, his hand coming up to where she’d hit him, then slowly he faced her.
“Good morning,” she said sweetly. And shut the door.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the back. She already had her coat and boots on and was about to leave for work. Cautiously, Mallory inched open the door. Sure enough, there stood Drew, his dark hair on end, his cheeks ruddy with cold.
“Want a ride to the store?” he offered.
He sounded so polite. But she wasn’t fooled. His gem-blue eyes sparkled, and one hand was behind his back.
“No, thanks.” She tried to shut the door, but he'd wedged in the toe of his hiking boot.
“No, Drew!” she shrieked as he grabbed her arm. A moment later her face was coated with frosty, wet mush. She sputtered for air, bent at the waist, then clutched at the snow by her feet. She hardly had time to throw it in his direction, when he hit her again, this time with a soft ball aimed at the back of her head.
“You’re lucky I don’t wear makeup, or you’d be in big trouble right now.” She had two snowballs in her hands, and he was unarmed. She stalked him through the yard until he was backed up against the garage.
“This is going to be fun.” She raised her arm, aiming right for his face, then he lunged, and they were both on the ground. He cushioned her fall with his body, though, bringing her down gently. Then he swung her over and planted another handful of snow in her face.
“Ungrateful wretch. Shovel your own walks next time.”
Mallory’s lashes were heavy with moisture, and her cheeks burned with the fresh bite of the snow crystals. “You expect a poor pregnant woman to shovel her own walks?” She let her voice whine with self-pity.
Drew blinked. She could see the beads of water on the tips of his dark lashes and along the ends of his hair. Poor guy, he looked even more disheveled than usual.
“You are okay, aren’t you?”
She laughed to reassure him, realizing she should have known better than to tease. He was so paranoid about her pregnancy he didn’t think she ought to do anything remotely physical. Her doctor had assured her, however, that she could carry on with all her usual activities.
“I’m fine. A little damp, but fine.” That was when she became aware of the intimacy of their situation. She was still half on Drew’s body, her left leg between his, her head propped up by his hand. His breath warmed the tip of her nose; his mouth was only inches from her own.
Suddenly, it hurt to breathe, and she felt a twisting and tumbling in her stomach that had nothing to do with the baby inside her. Drew’s eyes had grown serious, and his mouth had gone still. She and Drew were having another one of those moments that seemed to now occur with increasing frequency. It was almost like a spell had been cast over them, which inevitably one or the other of them would break. This morning it was Drew.
“You’ll dry.” He pulled away from her, dragged himself out of the snow, and then held out his hand.
“Yes, I suppose I will.” She let him pull her up, focusing on the roll of his black turtleneck, rather than his face.
A little melted snow wasn’t the problem here. For a moment there, she’d thought he was going to kiss her—and she had so badly wanted him to—
“Drew.”
He’d been walking ahead of her. Now he glanced at her from over his shoulder. “I’d better get you to the store or the customers are going to be lined up for blocks.”
“Yeah, right.” She’d be lucky to have one customer show on a snowy Monday morning in November. But that wasn’t the point. What Drew was really saying was that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened in that snowy bank.
How long could they go on ignoring the new sexual awareness between them?
Turned out she did get a customer, though not the kind she expected would buy anything. Around eleven, a petite woman with striking black hair, a full generous mouth and large, haunting eyes came, young daughter in tow. They were both dressed poorly for the weather. The woman’s jeans had a tear in the right knee, and her sweater, while thick, was no barrier to the low temperature and blowing wet snow.
The tiny child holding her hand had little better. Her ski jacket was colorless and thin from too many washings. The hat that covered most of her hair— dark like her mom’s—was too big for her head and kept falling over her eyes.
“Good morning,” Mallory said cheerfully. She walked around the counter, where she’d been counting off her order sheets, and held out a bowl to the little girl.
“Would it be okay if your daughter had some of these candies?” she asked the mother.
The woman looked anxious at first, then she smiled. “Thank you. That would be very nice. What do you say, Lisa?”
The little girl couldn’t have been more than three. She reached into the bowl of cellophane-wrapped peppermints and took one, lisping slightly when she said, “Thank you.”
“Grab a handful,” Mallory urged. “You, too.” She smiled at the mother.
The woman just shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Well, feel free to look around as long as you like.” Mallory stepped behind the counter again, giving them space. The woman led her daughter to the back, where a new shipment of little girls’ woolen coats, accompanied by fluffy white muffs, was hanging.
“Aren’t those darling? Just like something out of Little Women.” Mallory said.
The woman withdrew her hand and moved farther back to a rack where two-piece snowsuits were marked down ten percent. The reduction, however, still brought them nowhere near the price you’d pay for an equally warm—admittedly not as fashionable—outfit at a larger discount store.
“These are so cute,” the woman said, holding out a hanger with a dark-red snowsuit. “This color would look perfect on you, Lisa. Too bad I can’t afford it” She replaced it on the rack and smiled back at Mallory.
“Are you new to the area?” Mallory asked. At this time of the year they had few tourists, especially during the week. But she couldn’t recall having seen this woman or her child before.
The question, meant to be friendly, seemed to make the woman apprehensive.
“Yes. Relatively new. We used to live in Toronto.”
“With my daddy,” piped up the little girl, pushing the hat up from her eyes so she had a clear view of Mallory.
The woman glanced down at her daughter, then flashed a nervous smile at Mallory. “We’ve recently separated.”
That explained the pain in the woman’s dark eyes. “I’m Mallory Lombard. I’ve lived in Port Carling all my life. My house is on Bailey Street.”
“Terese Mer—. No, Terese Balfour.” She gave a disparaging shrug. “I’ve gone back to my maiden name.”
Again, she appeared to flinch, almost as if afraid. Or maybe she was just shy. It was a shame. There was something about this woman that made Mallory think they could be friends. And if Terese had just moved to a new place and left her husband, she could probably stand to make a few new friends.
“As you can tell, business is really slow right now. Would you like to stay for a minute and have a cup of coffee? I think I have juice in the fridge for your daughter.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you. But you’re busy.”
“I wish.” Mallory laughed. “Look, the door has a bell, so I’ll hear if anyone comes in. Why don’t you keep me company while I take a break?”
“Well, when you put it that way...” Terese took her daughter’s hand and followed Mallory to the back room.
Mallory had put on a pot of decaf coffee earlier in the morning. She poured her guest a mug, dug out the bran muffin and apple she’d brought for her lunch, cut them into pieces and arranged them on a plate. “Help yourself,” she said while she poured Lisa’s juice.
Lisa spared one questioning glance at her mother, before her little hand reached out for a piece of the muffin. A minute later she had gobbled down two slices of apple.
“That’s enough, sweetheart,” Terese said. “Leave some for everyone else.”
“But no one else is eating,” Lisa pointed out Mallory was amused. “You go ahead, Lisa. I’m not very hungry right now.” In fact she was starving, and she hoped her stomach didn’t betray her and start growling. But once Terese and her daughter left she could duck over to Marg’s and grab a sandwich. She had a feeling food, as well as warm clothing, was in short supply with the two.
“So what do you do?” she asked Terese.
“Before I had Lisa, I was a high-school guidance counselor, but what I really love is painting. Mostly landscapes and the occasional still life.”
“That sounds fascinating. I wish I had a talent like that”
Out of the blue, Lisa spoke, her mouth full of muffin. “My daddy hits me. My daddy is bad.”
